Og and the wolf cubs remained on the slope of the canyon wall trembling and wondering what was to happen next. But when the boy discovered the condition of the beast and knew for a certainty that it was held captive by the weight of the stone, he added his voice to the general din and gave the hairy man’s hunting call of triumph. Again and again he shouted in wild ecstasy, then, seizing his newly made stone hammer, he scrambled down to the bottom of the canyon, and, swinging his weapon over his head, crashed it down upon the tiger’s head. Again and again he beat it until the great head bled from a dozen different wounds, and the animal lay still among the rocks. Then once more Og raised his voice in a triumphant shout that echoed and reechoed up and down the canyon and out into the pleasant valley, where the tree people heard it and wondered.
All night long Og and the wolf cubs paced up and down beside the dead tiger, the hairy boy gloating over his achievement and enjoying his triumph to the fullest. He kicked the limp body, and spat upon it. He called it dreadful names in the tongue of the hairy people, he stood upon it, sat astride it, pulled its tail, and finally sat down and watched it proudly.
Then he proceeded with his skinning, while the wolf cubs looked silently on
And well might the hairy boy be proud of his accomplishment. The great cave tigers had taken a heavy toll of his people for many years, yet never to Og’s knowledge had anyone of his tribe, even his father, who was the mightiest hunter of them all, ever slain one of these terrible beasts single-handed. Indeed, Og had only heard of one ever having been killed, and that was one that, wounded and sick from a recent encounter with a hairy rhinoceros, had crawled to the river for water. There the hairy people had found it and cornered it. The whole tribe had joined in the killing of it and they had stoned and clubbed it to death. Og had seen the skin, or that part of it that could be salvaged. Old Gog, the scarred and irritable old war leader of the clan, would bring out the small piece of it that was left and drape it about his loins at feasts and on other state occasions.
Og realized with an overwhelming feeling of importance that he now possessed a whole skin to boast about when he should meet his people. He was wealthier now than any hairy man had ever been, or at least he would be when he had skinned the tiger. He was eager now for dawn to come so that he could begin that important task.
The first gray light of morning found Og searching about among the stones in the canyon for one that would make a satisfactory skinning knife. He searched long and hard, for he was beginning to appreciate the value of good tools, and he meant to have a knife that would do its work well. Again he was fortunate in finding a piece of flint; a large scale this time, that had a sharper edge than any knife that Og had ever possessed. He was elated, and he resolved, as he admired the cutting edge and tried it on the handle of his hammer, that he would not throw it away as most hairy people did the sharp stones they used for the same purpose. Instead, he would keep it, and perhaps, by chipping it as he had done the hammer head, he could make it even more serviceable.
With the coming of the first rays of the sun Og was bending over the prostrate form of the huge tiger. He had rolled the boulder partly away and dragged the carcass out from its death trap. Then he proceeded with his skinning, while the wolf cubs looked silently on or explored among the rocks for small animals on which they might breakfast.
It was at this work that the wondering and thoroughly frightened tree people found him when they began to gather timidly about the entrance of the canyon. And when they saw the sabre-toothed one stretched prone on the ground with the one that they had meant to be his victim bending over him they squealed in amazement and jabbered among themselves, but none of them, not even old Scar Face, had the courage to enter the canyon and come near him.